Confession
by WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: L has something very important to tell Erin, whether she wants to hear it or not. A companion fic to "Story Of The Century". L x OC.


_**Disclaimer! **_**All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction.**

**In response to all the mushy-gushy L x OC stories, out there. May or may not have occurred during the events of "Story Of The Century". Please don't stone me. **

_**CONFESSION**_

"_Miss Crocker, I need to speak to you in private. Please come downstairs,"_ he requests from out of the blue—or more accurately, from the laptop by her bed, right in the middle of her reading a volume of manga that Matsuda had loaned to her.

She jolts. "Huh? Ryuzaki, that you?"

"_Yes. Please come downstairs." _His request sounds more like an order in her ears, that Bossy Beth.

"Aw, dude, can't it wait? I'm getting to the good part!"

"_Unfortunately, no. Now please come downstairs." _

She has no idea what he wants out of her, this time; he's so unpredictable, she usually never does. But she might as well go along with it. He won't leave her alone unless she does. It's probably something dumb, anyhow. Dumb in an L-ish kind of way.

Taking a deep breath, she prays, _Lord, give me strength_, as she places her bookmark in the crevice between the whimsical characters and inflated speech bubbles. It's Matsuda's book, after all. She doesn't want to ruin it with any tearing or folding (it's been loved more than enough, already).

When she arrives in the monitor room, she finds him crouched in his seat with his hands over his knees. He's the only one present in the room. However, instead of burning holes into the computer monitor, he's turned around to stare unblinkingly at her face, as though he'd been waiting patiently for her to come in. Like a cat waiting for a meal, practically. The thought kills her.

Her first words to him are, "Okay, I'm here. So what's up?" What could he possibly want out of _her? _She's not an investigator, so she can't help very much with the case. She's certainly no Light, so it isn't like their minds run together in ruthless synchronization (actually, they _clash _far more than they harmonize).

He doesn't answer her, right away. He just keeps staring at her with a thumb pressed to his pouty lips and considerable intent. What kind of intent, exactly, she can't recognize. His lack of eyebrows always gives him the upper hand when it comes to trying to dissect his motives.

What makes it funny is that Erin hadn't much appreciated the tell-tale value of eyebrows before she'd met him.

Her fingers twitch with the urge to tug on her shirt collar. "Um…what'cha staring at? I thought that—that you had something you wanted to discuss with me." He has this unusual—not to mention annoying—talent of making people nervous for no particular reason at all. But then, how else should one feel towards someone of his character (or, as it often seems, his lack thereof)?

The air begins to feel heavy around her—heavy with what, she can't put her finger on—as he jolts up ever so slightly. "Ah, yes. I need you to come closer."

_Huh? _

"Why can't you just tell me from over there? I can hear you from over here pretty well."

He shakes his head. "No, I need you in my immediate vicinity. If you aren't, there's a chance that someone may overhear, and I need to disclose this to you in private. That's why we're alone, at this moment."

She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, knowing all too well that he's too lazy to get up himself if he can help it, before taking several reluctant steps into the room. "Okay, how's this?"

He traces the outline of his lips with the tip of his thumb as she inches her way towards him. "Hmm…still too far. Come closer."

She grunts as she takes five more wary steps. "There. Am I close enough now?"

"I'm afraid not."

Seven more steps. "How 'bout now?"

"Not even close." It almost feels as if they're playing Red Light, Green Light.

Already getting fed up with his games, she hardly notices that she's stomping over towards him for the rest of the way as she snaps, "Jeez, Ryuzaki, just how close d'ya want me to be? It can't be _that _important."

"Oh, but it is," he deadpans. "I want you positioned exactly where I am."

Before long, she's standing right over him, arms folded over her chest. "All right, now what? Do I take a seat?"

He hooks in thumb into the corner of his mouth, entranced in thought. "Yes, please have a seat. I can make room." To her shock, she watches him spread his legs a little, as though inviting her to—

She makes a face. _What the hell is wrong with this kid? _"What's your problem, Ryuzaki? What, you want me to sit in your _lap_, or something?" she half-jests, half-sneers.

"No. Just here," he explains, pointing a spidery finger to the spot between his jean-clad legs. The innocent expression on his face almost kills her (she doesn't know what else to call it). He has never been what most would consider "normal," probably long before she'd ever bumped into him. But this…this is—

She promptly begins to back away to the right, her hand groping the air beside her in frantic search of a chair of her own. "Uh…no, thanks. I'll have to decline your offer. I'll just get a—"

He doesn't let her finish. Before she even realizes what's going on, he reaches out to pinch the fabric of her shirt sleeves in his fingers, reeling her in squirming to plant her between his legs. He keeps her sleeves in his grip so she doesn't run away.

"H-hey! What's the matter with you today, Ryuzaki?" she sputters, able to squirm out just enough to rest her butt precariously on the edge of the chair. It's awfully uncomfortable, but maybe she'll fall? At least then she could get away from him. "Wh-where I come from, they call this harassment! Where's the guy who doesn't like physical contact, huh? What happened to him?"

She can sense his damn lips hovering beside her ear, now, not touching it, but very close, the breath upon it very slight, but warm. Too warm for her liking, raising unwelcome goosebumps along the nape of her neck and down her back. In the background, the quiet hum of the computers behind them plays like a toneless thematic musical score.

…For all of its bizarreness, there's something vaguely familiar about this scene to her. As though she'd seen it out of a chick flick she'd watched with Misa and company not so long ago. She freezes upon remembering it.

Something stinks.

In the meantime, he's murmuring, "This won't take long, as long as you cooperate, Miss Crocker. I don't like to repeat myself, so please listen carefully." She can see his skinny white toes wiggling in anticipation in front of her, almost like a little kid. "I've been meaning to tell you this for quite some time…"

_Misa, L, girl-talk, crushes, games—_

_Oh, no._

She blurts over him: "Ryuzaki, this isn't about what Misa said about you and me, is it? You've been listening in on us, haven't you? Wouldn't put it past you to."

A very long, awkward pause.

"Actually, I needed to tell you that you've got popcorn lodged in your teeth. At the front. It's been there since last evening, and I find it rather distracting."

That L: what a piece of work! This is a guy who wears the same shirt and jeans every day and has probably never so much as _held_ a comb, but when it comes to others, he gets so anal. Especially with her. Most likely because he knew it riled her up. He loves toying with her.

Her whole face feels as though it's broken out into hives. Honestly, she's not sure whether to feel embarrassed, furious, or downright stupid. Not to say that she can only feel one emotion at a time.

"Popcorn? In my teeth? Is that what you said?" she grumbles, dropping a light punch on his knee, seeing that she can't give him a noogie and a slap seems a little much for this situation. "_That's _the really important thing you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes. That is all." By that point, he lets go of her sleeves so she can stand up and loom over him again, a hand over her mouth the entire time. "Please take care of it as soon as possible."

"Th-then why did you want me so close to you and everything? Like you were gonna—I-I dunno—_confess _to me, or something?"

He taps his upper lip, glancing up at the ceiling as he replies, "I did want to confess. I wanted to confess that I noticed that unsightly food-stuff in your teeth. But I've somewhat suspected you to be hearing-impaired. I deduced that from how loudly you speak, as well as your tendency to ask that someone repeat their words, and to stick your finger in your ear as though you're trying to dislodge an obstruction in there."

Unbelievable! That one makes aforementioned ears set ablaze, like they're going to shrivel into strips of bacon and fall off her temples.

With a hand still shielding her mouth, she spits, "You knucklehead, I was just gonna say: I don't need _you_ picking on me about it, too. Misa's the one who brings it up. I was gonna give you a noogie, but screw it. I just want to go back to my manga. Well, technically, it's Matsu's, but whatever." She means it. This isn't much different than the countless other instances he's picked on her. And she supposes it could've been worse. At least he'd been nice enough to do it while they were alone, this time.

Before she leaves him, however, she gives him a salute and a tight-lipped smile, taking care not to show her teeth. She'll have to check to see if Ryuzaki's telling the truth (a rare event, in and of itself). "Oh, and FYI, I dunno what exactly _you_ make of our girl-talks, but I don't believe her. So you can relax about that. Believe it or not, I'm a little more discerning than most people credit me for. Including you, I'm sure."

She doesn't stay to hear his input on the conversations, nor does she notice his posture slouching even further as she trots away, almost to the point where it's a wonder that his frame hasn't collapsed upon itself.

When she vanishes out the door, he stares down at his knees and murmurs to himself, "Is that so? I may have to argue that."

_**END**_


End file.
